I don’t know, but I do know I’m in some acute distress after he’s done. My cock is darker and thicker than ever, straining against the transparent latex, shiny and waiting for someone to use it. I can’t see it, but I can feel the hot pre-cum weeping from my tip, and everything from my knees to my chest is clenching and releasing as I wait for him to do something, do anything. Anything to take my mind off the hot, throbbing bar between my legs.
Auden leans over Poe and gently helps her up, whispering something in her ear as he does. And then he keeps helping her, helping her onto her knees and then helping her right onto my lap.
Right onto my waiting cock.
Chapter 7
Proserpina
Present Day
* * *
Auden’s hands on my welted ass are big and hot and rough, and I whimper as he settles me over Saint’s hips.
It’ll hurt less this way, he whispered to me just before he started moving me, and I’m guessing he means it will hurt less straddling Saint than it would if I were on my back, which is probably true.
It hurts anyway, at least where those massive hands grip and squeeze me. But the endorphins are thick and giddy in my bloodstream right now, and even the pain feels like a gift, like an enticement. A caress from a man I love as he positions me to fuck someone else.
“Wider, little bride,” Auden murmurs, and I plant my knees wider on either side of Saint while Auden keeps one hand curled possessively around my hip. His other hand drops to Saint’s sheathed cock.
“Fuck,” Saint whispers, looking down at where Auden is fisting his length. Between my thighs, I can feel the restless roll of his hips. “Fuck.” And then the moment Auden brushes my waiting seam with Saint’s tip, Saint’s hands fly to my waist, whether to yank me down onto him or simply to anchor himself while sensation rips through him, I don’t know.
But either way, it doesn’t make Auden happy.
“Lean back on your hands,” he growls to Saint. “You don’t get to touch her unless I say.”
The possession in Auden’s voice strikes a dark chord inside me, a part that’s always there, always waiting, but after being used and flogged, is right at the surface and spread all over me. I want to be his, I want to belong to him, I want him to keep me safe in this cocoon of rasping pleasure, where nothing can hurt me except for him.
Saint bites off a curse at Auden’s instruction but he listens, putting his hands on either side of his hips and leaning back just enough that his stomach and chest tense into tight ripples of muscle and so his hips push his cock even closer to me. Another latex-slick kiss against my folds, and I moan.
“Do you like it?” I ask Saint. “Him using you like this?”
Saint’s eyes are half-closed, and there’s a dark flush spreading across his chest and sweat beginning to mist his skin. “Yes,” he whispers to me. “I always did.”
Auden can hear us, I know he can, but he doesn’t react to this exchange other than to press me down and begin fitting Saint’s flared crown into my opening.
“It takes a lot of work to get this cock inside here, doesn’t it?” Auden asks. He must give Saint a hard squeeze, because Saint’s head drops all the way back and his breathing stutters in and out of his chest in sharp bursts, as if he’s fighting off the need to come into the condom right now, with nothing but his tip inside me and Auden’s hand at his base. “You must have had to work and work and work last night, squirming and whimpering and panting into his neck, isn’t that right? It didn’t matter how wet you were, didn’t matter how hard he shoved these hips into your thighs, this tiny pussy barely let him in. It’s barely letting him in now.”
My eyes are fluttering and my breathing is stitching with the effort to impale onto Saint. Even with Auden’s hand on my hip driving me relentlessly down, the resistance is insane, and the moment St. Sebastian’s tip truly wedges into my hole, I let out a soft, ragged noise. I’m so sore, I’m so sore there from last night, and Saint is so thick, impossibly thick, and so hard. And yet my orgasm begins knitting itself anew around the invasion in my belly, it begins tingling in that spot, the one just behind my clit, a testament to my fucked-up wiring. The soreness makes it better, the heat and throb of my welted back and ass make it sweeter, everything doubling back and growing on itself into a feedback loop even I can’t fully explain. I only know that it feels truer than anything I’ve ever felt. I only know that it reminds me of last night, bound by thorns and kissed by the lord of the manor.
Holy shit.
This is what I’ve been chasing all these years. Not the leather, not the munches, not the delightful but predictable croon of Maynard James Keenan laid over some bass-heavy track. And this isn’t even just the combination of sex and kink.
This is here. This is Thornchapel.
This is them—Auden and Saint, and also Rebecca and Delphine and Becket.
I’ve been needing to fuse pain and delight in this place, with these people.
I’ve needed to become the bride by thorns.
I’m finally seated, fully, on Saint’s length, and Auden grants me a mercy and lets me shiver there for a few moments, so overwhelmed by the heat rolling off my back and the scorching thickness between my legs that all movement seems impossible.
St. Sebastian shivers too, shuddering between my legs and panting like a stallion ridden too hard—except I haven’t done any riding yet. He’s unraveled by this alone, by the mere joining of us, and I remember that he too was a virgin until last night.
We were waiting for each other.
We were waiting to be together at Thornchapel again.
I don’t know how I know this is true, but it is. It’s a truth that wells up from some blurry, breathless part of my mind—it wells up from the way I felt last night in the woods. I can still feel the thorn chapel, even now, I told Rebecca earlier, and it’s still true, it’s still there. Like the ritual peeled the scales from my eyes, unshackled my mind, and now I can see and think and know things I couldn’t before.
Or maybe I’m really high on endorphins and about to come on a beautiful cock belonging to a beautiful man after another beautiful man helped flog me to hell and back.
“I want to see you fuck,” Auden growls from next to us. “I want to see you screw that tiny pussy onto his cock and show me how it will come for me when it’s my turn.”
Saint’s hips give an involuntary buck underneath me at Auden’s words.
Auden unfastens his trousers—not all the way, but enough to relieve the pressure on his erection, which strains lewdly against his zipper. “Start fucking, you two,” he orders. “Fuck for me.”
But he doesn’t wait for us to listen, he can’t wait a moment longer. He steps between Saint’s feet, the fabric of his trousers abrading my ass, and then he takes my hips firmly in both hands and moves me, grinding me down and forward against Saint.
I nearly die. I think I do die, because the drag of my clit against Saint’s tight muscles and the swell of him between my legs is enough to make my breath catch and my heart stop.
“Jesus,” Saint whispers. He’s looking at us again now, eyes glassy and cheeks flushed, stomach tighter than a drum as it clenches in pleasure. “Jesus Christ.”
Auden moves me again, his hands so big and his arms so strong that he can lift and slide me effortlessly, however he wants, as if I’m nothing more than a toy. Which he confirms when he leans down to murmur in my ear, “Do you like being used for your cunt, little bride? Used for a fuck? Used to amuse me?”
“Yes,” I breathe out. His words are like liquid flame rolling all over me, dripping from the tips of my breasts and from the curve of my belly, running in rivulets over my erect clit and the slick, swollen folds currently stretched tight around Saint’s thick cock.
Smack.
A sharp slap on my ass has me crying out in pain and the resulting pleasure.
“I think you forgot something,” Auden says calmly.
I know immediately what he wants, but Saint
watches the exchange with puzzled fascination, as if he’s witnessing something he didn’t know he needed to witness until this very moment, and I know what it is. It’s what trained submission looks like from the outside; it’s what kink feels like when you’re not the one personally being held by the throat and forced to come.
“Yes, Sir,” I try again, and Auden leans down to bite my neck as a reward.
Saint watches that too, his lush lips parted enough that his lip piercing catches the light, and I hope he likes watching me like this, I hope it gets him so hard he can’t stand it. I hope he loves this world like I do, this world where a bite is a reward, where tender pain is given as praise.
I hope he loves it because it’s a part of me and I’ll never leave it, but I need him just as much as I need the kink and I can’t choose between the two. The kink and him. My pierced prince who’s never cold, who’s wary of warmth, who broods alone in the woods when he thinks no one is watching.
Auden bites my neck again, hard, and I can feel the velvet head of his cock against my back, I can feel the slick pre-cum it’s leaving on my skin. “I want you to come,” he whispers in my ear, nipping at my lobe. “I want to feel you shudder and tense. I want you to ride St. Sebastian while every welt on your back and your ass burns, I want you to fuck him while you remember what it felt like to have my fingers in your cunt and my cock spilling against your belly.”
I want Auden to penetrate me, I want it so badly that I’m jerking my hips against Saint’s harder and faster than Auden is making me, as if I can prove my wanting him by fucking Saint like the best little slut who’s ever lived. But I want Saint just as much too, and it’s his face I see as I screw my way toward a roaring orgasm, it’s his lip piercing and his deep brown eyes and his high cheekbones flushed red against the pale bronze of his skin. It’s his gaze I hold, it’s his tight chest and stomach I run desperate fingers over, and it’s his massive, powerful thighs all hard and hair-dusted under my own that I rest on.
“Poe,” Saint croaks.
“I know,” I say. “I have you.”
“You have me,” he repeats hoarsely, his eyes hot and open against mine. And I can’t believe that we’re here—winter boy and summer girl, librarian and librarian, loner and new girl—the one I wanted from the very beginning, and I’m impaled on him like the pretty sacrifice I so love being.
And that I’m here and being used by Auden, here with all the marks he helped Rebecca give me, that I’m here on the edge of giddy, eager release on today of all days. . .
It’s a gift. Thornchapel is giving me a gift, even after it’s taken away something precious beyond explaining.
Which is something I don’t need to think about now. I don’t even think I can think about it, because I’m floating above myself, floating inside myself, just like last night. A bride about to come for her lord.
Saint is at the end of his tether now, I can tell; his stomach is hollowing and seizing with every breath, abs rippling as he strains to keep from spilling into the condom, his thighs clenched underneath mine and his jaw ticking with determination. Sweat glistens in the corrugations of his belly and chest and in the dip of his collarbone, and it sparkles at his temples and along the line of his inky hair. His hips are jerking hard underneath mine, as if he’s helpless to stop rutting, as if everything is lost to him except the need to mate me.
“Got to give you this,” he whispers up to me, chest heaving. “Want you to feel good.”
“I am feeling good,” I manage, my hands reaching up to squeeze at his big, sweat-slicked shoulders and arms. “I do. I feel so good right now, I feel so good—”
One of Auden’s hands moves from my hip to my belly and then down, his fingertips catching my clit and then sliding between it and Saint’s hard body so that every time he pushes me forward with his other hand, I have that much more pressure against me, grinding an orgasm right into me. Coupled with the unbearably deep kiss of St. Sebastian’s organ inside my belly, it’s all I can do to lift my head when Auden breathes, “Look at me.”
I lift, I turn, I look.
I come.
With my eyes trapped in his tormented gaze, I come.
An orgasm that feels like years in the making pulls tight and snaps, shuddering wave after hot wave of release through my cunt and belly and thighs. It chases itself down to the soles of my feet, curling my toes, and it thrums down my arms and hands and fingertips. It pulls at my chest and throat, stealing my breath, and it has me arching and twisting like a wild thing, writhing so hard that two sets of big male hands can hardly keep me still. It’s agony, delicious agony, the primal brightness that’s the source of all pain and all pleasure; wordless, dire, beautiful.
Animal.
Necessary.
Here there is nothing—no thing, no time, and no space that isn’t the spark of life itself—every thought and torment is crowded out and flung to the edges of space, and I am the center of the universe, I am the cradle of life, I exist I exist I exist—
Auden catches me gently as I slump against him, but he doesn’t lift me off of St. Sebastian’s thighs. Instead he holds me upright so Saint can still use me, he keeps me right where Saint needs me.
“Fuck her like you need to,” Auden tells him. “I know you need to stroke up into that little hole. I know you need to feel her squeezing you up and down—fast, fast, fast.”
Saint groans but his hips punch up into a rough thrust, which Auden holds me still for.
“That’s right,” Auden says in a husky voice as Saint does it again. “Show her how much you need this. How lonely you’ve been without a warm cunt to ease you at night.”
“Christ, Auden,” St. Sebastian whispers.
Auden’s arms are banded securely around me, but he loosens his grip a little so he can toy with my breasts. His hot crown and the fabric-covered inches below it are rigid and throbbing against my back—from playing with my tits or witnessing Saint’s flushed, tortured expression as he watches Auden handle me—or both—I’m not certain. I’m only certain that all three of us love it.
Even if I’m a limp, lolling doll who’s barely even capable of rational thought—I love it.
Then St. Sebastian says it, the thing that’s been strung between the three of us since last night, the thing that keeps our little triangle from being your run-of-the-mill, kink-fueled, ancient-pagan-ritual-infused ménage. “I’ve been lonely for you too, Auden,” he murmurs up to the man behind me. Auden’s hands freeze on my flesh; I can feel his heart hammering and hammering. “I’ve been lonely for both of you, whenever I needed to get off, it was both of you I wanted . . . ”
Auden hisses in a breath, and there’s no mistaking the trembling in his hands or the tightness in his body. I think of last night, when he’d jerked off St. Sebastian in the shower, I think of my first day here when I walked out to them fighting like brothers in the rain. I don’t know what happened between them years ago, and I don’t know what curdled their boyhood affection into hatred—but I do know that Auden isn’t unaffected by Saint.
I do know that the length of tense, possessive male behind me isn’t only tensed out of anger.
I’m too spent to decide whether or not I’m jealous; I’m too giddy and dirty with lingering arousal to want to stop this. I want to push them, I want to see them like they were last night—together.
Auden doesn’t give them the chance.
With impressive strength and a quick, hard flip, I’m on my back on the bed, and then Saint is pushed on top of me, but doesn’t have the chance to stroke back inside before Auden speaks.
“You don’t get me,” Auden says. He sounds angry and . . . hurt? “You don’t get to be lonely for me. Not now, not ever.”
“I am,” St. Sebastian says honestly. He rises up and turns so he can curl his fingers around Auden’s waistband and pull him forward. Looking too stunned to react, Auden lets him, stumbling against the bed. His swollen staff has pushed even farther out of his zipper; he’s almost fully
exposed now. The rude length of him framed by all that expensive, tailored fabric has my sore cunt clenching all over again.
“I am lonely for you,” Saint repeats. “And you can’t stop it. You can’t hurt me enough to stop.” He pauses, and I know whatever he’s going to say next is going to be a blow. “Not like you did with the money.”
Auden slaps him.
The room slows, stills, freezes solid. Time is gone and time is nothing. Saint shudders as the angry handprint blooms on his cheek, and for a minute, I think he’s going to lunge at Auden. I think they’re going to fight again, to grapple and strike and bleed. I think that slap is going to send all three of us hurtling toward disaster.
But apparently I don’t speak fluent Angsty Boy, because Saint doesn’t hit him back. Saint only breathes in his quivering, shivering breaths, breathes like he felt that slap against his cock instead of his face.
Auden catches Saint’s jaw in his hand and flattens his mouth against his. He threads his fingers through Saint’s hair and yanks Saint’s face back enough for Auden to bite at his lip piercing, to lick at it and suck on it. And Saint lets him, Saint shudders harder than ever, groaning into Auden’s mouth like a man being fucked. “Does that get you hard?” Auden asks meanly, between kisses even meaner than his words. “Does it get you off?”
Saint seems past words now, his eyes glassy and his mouth swollen from being kissed. He just nods and doesn’t speak, although I see the flick of his eyes from Auden’s feet up to Auden’s hard column of flesh to Auden’s face, and I know what St. Sebastian is too sex-drunk to say.
Everything Auden does gets St. Sebastian hard. And Auden can’t hide that he’s just as turned on by it as Saint is.
Feast of Sparks Page 6
